Frank the Bunny says...

Happy Halloween!!!


My friend Mike Q is in town visiting on business and we're hitting the town on Halloween. After living in LA for over ten years, I'm finally heading to West Hollywood for the big Halloween shindig. Maybe I'll get pictures.

1 Day Remains

2 Days Remain

4 Days... 3 Hours... 4 Minutes... 25 Seconds...

This Link of the Week is for cat lovers only. A special shout out to my cat homies in the bayou! Time to ramp up for Santa, Jack!

The Best Things in Life Are...

About this time last year, I went to check the mail and got a surprise. It was an envelope. Padded. Some rectangular item swathed in bubble wrap had me tantalized. I sat eagerly to open it, but was already talking myself down from the high. It was probably some lame promotion.

Dryer sheets maybe. Hey, free dryer sheets, nothin’ shabby about that. And bubble wrap. A great toy unto itself. I opened the envelope, to find that I had been given something much, much better. I had my own personal copy of Minority Report, on DVD.

I couldn’t believe it! This was the happiest day I’d had all year! (I liked the movie, but that statement says how much 2002 totally sucked for me).

But this was only the beginning. It wasn’t long after this that I received The Hours, Antoine Fisher, About a Boy, and Road to Perdition all on DVD. Free. Right to my door. No, I am not a member of the voting Academy, but I am a member of the Writers Guild of America. And because of that, someone had green lighted an early Christmas.

As a member of the WGA, I pay them hundreds of dollars. In return, I get nothing but a magazine. This includes the years I don’t make jack, like last year (see aforementioned 2002 suckiness). High time I got something for my money.

And now, here we are a year later and Hollywood is all a twitter with the fact that the Motion Picture Association of America has banned sending out screener DVD’s.

I say to you, America... IT’S NOT FAIR!!!

No matter what your job is, you have perks, right? Freebies. Gimmies. Something that, due to your hard work and privileged access, you’ve got coming to you. What would yours be??

When I worked as a janitor for Texas Gas in Owensboro Kentucky, it was toilet paper. If a roll of tp was half gone, it had to be replaced. Couldn’t have some account exec waddling out of his stall mid-project and having to loot the next one over. No sir. I’d be fired if that happened. Full rolls of tp for all stalls! Those half and quarter rolls went into a hefty bag (another freebie) and into my trunk.

The humiliation and ridicule I suffered from cleaning toilets all summer was repaid to me in Charmin. Whether I chose to be fully stocked for nine months, or blow the entire bag in one Halloween prank, my bag of toilet paper booty was mine. It was, in fact, my God-given right!

As a Writer’s Assistant on various TV productions, you rarely have warning when your show is cancelled. And when your show is robbed of its dignity by the network, you are sent home immediately, and there is only one form of compensation available: raiding the show’s kitchen.

At one particular production, I was negligent and didn’t get to the kitchen fast enough. Some PA had already backed his car right up to the kitchen door and filled his trunk with 9 cartons of Pepsi and Dr. Pepper, 1 palette of Cup O’ Noodles, the entire pantry of Emer’Gen C, 6 Valu-paks of Trident Gum, a Valu-pak of Pringles, a box of Oreo Ice Cream Sandwiches, and a giant jar of malted milkballs. The PA sped away without bidding goodbye to anyone on the staff (in fairness to him, it was a hot day and the timer on the ice cream bars was ticking). My only satisfaction to his greediness was knowing that the jar of malted milkballs (normally gold medal booty) had been left open over a holiday weekend in a room next to an unscreened window where it had been heated and cooled a good three times.

Having come late to the looting, I had no recourse but to stuff a backpack with Atomic Fireballs, 4 multi-packs of Werther’s toffees and a jumbo pack of Extra Sugarfree Gum (the show was debating the merits of Extra vs. Trident and had yet to come to a conclusion when we were cancelled). The little orange peanut butter crackers were my gift to the next looter (or joke on him, depending on your perspective).

Faced with an uncertain employment future, at least I had the satisfaction of knowing that I had over 400 pieces of candy, which would later be stuffed in a drawer of batteries, expired coupons and old keys. (By the way, Extra Sugarfree Gum contains Nutrasweet, which apparently has a limited shelf life. When said gum expires, it dissolves into a strange putty. It’s tasty for about five seconds, but then the texture becomes unbearable.)

Wait a minute... where was I?

Oh yes...

Don’t the guys at the slaughterhouse get free hamburger? Don’t the folks at Bic take home free pens? Don’t the men working at steel mills periodically fill their car trunks with railroad ties? Well... you get the point.

The critics charge that the MPAA ban on screeners will leave independent films ignored by the movie awards. Who are they kidding? The critics and Academy members are just like me. They are accustomed to their free stuff and don’t want it go away.

Guess I’ll have to wait till Christmas to get any gifts this year. Let’s just hope the MPAA doesn’t start meddling with that too.

This Link of the Week is courtesy of my friend John C. It's um... well, you'd best just check it yourself.

Intercom to the Great Beyond

Everyone has a guilty pleasure. Mine? Buffy the Vampire Slayer is off the air. Survivor? Totally passé. And let’s just forget my love for the music of “A-ha” (still poised for a US comeback!). I now have a new guilty pleasure.

I’m addicted to Crossing Over with John Edward! For those of you not in the know, John Edward is a psychic medium. People wait for months, even years to go to his show taping for a chance to receive messages from their deceased relatives via Edward.

“I’m with an older female who has passed,” he’ll say. “They’re giving me an unusual ‘P’ name, something like ‘Penelope or Penny’ and I’m seeing blackness in the throat area which could be throat cancer or something with the thyroid.”

“My aunt died of throat cancer,” a woman says. “Her name was Philomena.”

John nods at her, “I’m with you,” and the show leaps out the starting gate.

Now, if you are a skeptic to such a thing, please take this moment to breathe… BREATHE… that’s it… ah there you go. A few weeks ago I mentioned my fascination with this show to a friend of mine and he became very upset at me. It was then that I realized: the passion of the believers is equally matched by that of the skeptics.

But who cares if this is real? It’s outstanding television!

I personally get a kick from seeing John Edward wear his ego like a flashing banner over his head. The show often opens with Edward entering the gallery to an Oprah-like standing ovation. The expression on these women’s faces! Eyes wide as saucers, housewives drooling with adoration at seeing Edward in the flesh. Of course, they could easily have CUT this fifteen seconds from the show and do more pychic readings. But I envision John sitting in the edit bay, making them cut 15 seconds from poor dead Philomena so he can see people screaming at him like he’s the fifth Beatle.

And why not? Edward is simply using one of the oldest dramatic devices in story telling: If you want people to like your main character, show people liking your main character.

But Edward’s ego extends to his website as well. Click on the photo gallery link and you’ll find (what else?) glamour shots of Edward himself. There’s “Soft focus” Edward… “Edward at work” Edward… “Now my Sweater’s Red” Edward… “Cuddle-With-Me-By-the-Fire” Edward… and “Sorta Bathed in White Light” Edward.

The show often does updates, where they visit the people who were read at the show previously. These depict the audience member gazing fondly at photos of their deceased, or walking in slo mo through their garden – a newfound peace settled upon them thanks to Edward and his intercom with the great beyond. “Say something nice about John,” the producers probably say. “He really likes that.” And why shouldn’t the people oblige?

I often wonder about the updates we don’t see. The bitter, depressed and angry ones. Like Christina, whose Grandmother Addy didn’t come through to John when Christina was at the show. “There’s no way Grandma Addy wouldn’t come through if this was real,” she might say. “I knew John was a fraud.”

“Now, now,” John would scold. “If you don’t say something nice about me, I won’t put you on the show.”

Or, he might deflect the blame and transform Christina’s anger into gut-wrenching guilt. “There’s only one reason Addy wouldn’t come through for you, Christina. You must not have loved your grandma enough.”

I guess he’ll always edit out his throwing barbs like that one. But what John Edward does always say is that we should "appreciate, communicate and validate the ones we love" in the present, so we won’t need a medium to do so when they are gone. That, and he says our departed loved ones can see everything we are doing from their perch on the other side.

Really? Everything?

Uch.

You think your job sucks? How would you like to be a Carcass Cleaner? Or a Stool Sampler Analyzer? Take a look at Popular Science's Worst Jobs in Science and see just how good you've got it. It's my Link of the Week!

(My thanks to whomever gave me this link... I'm totally blanking)

From the Headlines...

Recall Fever Reaches Iowa Grade School

The successful recall of California Governor Gray Davis has inspired fourth graders in Sac City Iowa to recall their newly elected Class President. Fourth grader Mindy McDeter defeated her opponent Toby Calloway in Sac City Elementary's Student Council election early September. However, allegations of corruption by Calloway have rallied some students to demand she be ousted.

"It was just a stupid popularity contest and stuff," said Calloway, flanked by supporters who sit near him on the bus. "And she said she would get us pizza in the lunchroom twice a week. What happened with that?"

Calloway adds that McDeter has failed to be responsive to her fourth grade constituents. When queried about the pizza campaign promise, Calloway says that President McDeter rolled her eyes at him and told him to "shut up." For Calloway, it was the final straw. Calloway accused McDeter of being a "stinky fat head" and began to circulate his petition for recall.

Mindy McDeter told the school newspaper that her failure to impliment the infamous 'pizza promise' was "not [her] fault," adding that Principal Young refused to change the school menu. "They wouldn't do it," said McDeter. "I'm gonna get my mom to call."

Perhaps the most damaging allegation against McDeter is that of favoritism and corruption. Calloway alleges that one of his friends walked by the Teachers Lounge one day and saw McDeter and her council "just sitting in there drinking Coke and eating cupcakes" during a supposed meeting. "How come they get cupcakes?" he added.

"He's just mad 'cause I won," said McDeter, who believed the whole thing was nothing more than a smear campaign. When asked about the cupcake incident, McDeter accused Calloway and his friends of being "a bunch of meanies." She then told reporters that Calloway's dad was an "alcoholic", and ran into the girl's bathroom crying.

Though Calloway had said he'd refrain from further mud-slinging, when informed of McDeter's comment, he said McDeter had a "stupid butt face" and vowed to press on with the recall.

Toby's father, Derek Calloway, of Calloway Construction, could not be reached for comment.

Return from Reno

Sorry for the blog break, but I have just returned from a five-day jaunt in Nevada.

My friend Scott is a photographer with multiple accounts in Reno. He periodically hires his desperate and dollar-challenged friends (i.e. me) to assist him on these gigs.

Scott specializes in school photos for private pre/schools and has really made a name for himself. Remember those awful photographers we had to deal with when we were kids? If you blinked or smiled funny, you were stuck with it till next year. Not with Scott.

He'll go to any length to get the child to smile or stop crying. Eight or ten exposures? If that’s what it takes, sure!

When playing photographer, Scott becomes someone else. Suddenly, this cool, bearded guy who calls his friends "mate", loves a good pint of Guinness, and has a weakness for classic Depeche Mode, transforms into this duck-quacking, "got your nose" clown. The kids leave him with a smile and a high-five. His friends who see him in this context wander away in a dazed fugue state.

But none of his friends rib him too much about it. Not when mothers gush and actually cry when they get their child's pictures. Yeah, he's THAT good.

The thing about school photography is that Scott seldom double books a day. This means after rising early in the morning and taking photos for, say, four hours straight, the day is over at noon. What's there to do in Reno Nevada to fill the day?

Drink, of course. (We're too frugal to gamble.)

And that is exactly what Scott and Steve and I did.

(Oh, Steve is another guy Scott hired to photograph and assist. Steve is from Hungary and speaks with a thick accent. Steve's name isn’t really Steve. Steve's real name is unpronounceable to our weak American tongues. Oh, one more thing... Steve is looking to get married to get his green card. There is pay. Write me if interested.)

With Scott accruing years of experience in Reno, he's gotten some help in discovering the local color via a guy named Dave. Dave tends bar at a super cool place downtown.

I find Dave intimidating because he's the kind of guy I wish I could be. An unstoppable grin, Dave is greeted by friends wherever he goes. And he seems to have a knack for zeroing in on people and connecting with them quickly.

I thought I’d summarize my time in Reno with a mini-diary.


Sunday September 28

We arrive at the Comfort Inn in Reno somewhere around 2am. We blow up an air mattress for Steve. When Steve says my name he pronounces it "COH-deeeeee!" which makes me laugh every time.


Monday September 29

Scott and I are at the Kangaroo Learning Center while Steve is elsewhere in town. Teachers here are (unusually) HOT!

At night, we meet Dave at work at the bar. He comps us drink after drink. Only 3 other people besides us are in the place. We’re talking and I ask Steve something about life in Bulgaria.

"I’m from Hungary," he says.


Tuesday September 30

Day 2 at the Kangaroo place.

After lunch, the three of us nap in the room and watch a little "Twin Peaks" on DVD. Steve had insisted I bring it, and another TP fan in the world is always a plus. At night, we head to Dave at the bar and drink. I marvel to Steve about what life must be like in Bulgaria. It’s now one of our many running jokes. I begin to wonder if Steve doesn’t like me making fun of his accent.

Dave takes us to a very special bar called Peyton Place. The somewhat worn looking chick tending the bar gushes over us four "gorgeous guys." Looking around at the competition, I don’t think any of us would argue. Dave buys us all shots of Jager. He pokes fun at Steve’s accent and I know I’m in the clear. Now even Steve is howling my name, lampooning himself. "COH-deeeeee!"

More Jager.

Peyton Place is not a typical bar. There are "movies" playing on the TV's. At this time on Friday or Saturday, there would be debauchery going on right where our drinks are sitting. There are special rooms in the back of this place.

Dave asks the bartender if she'll show us the back rooms (empty). She obliges. There is a seating area with several couches. The room has a window that looks into another room with a doctor's exam table. A bedroom, kitchen, and shower are nearby.

We assumed that no one actually lives here.

More Jager.

Scott and I play video games with a woman (way to lasso the guys in!). This young lady had earlier asked Steve if he wanted a girlfriend. Steve declined. (He must have completely blanked on his need to get married.)

The bartender invites us to stick around till midnight. At that time, a woman, her husband, and their friend will be coming over, and she’s certain they'll want us to be with them in the back rooms.

We depart Peyton Place at 11:46pm.

Next door is a bar called Redrum. The place is well lit and cool and we're all in love with the bartender. Dave gets Steve and I to do two more shots of something I can’t remember.

Dave puts $20 in the bar poker machine. Within twenty minutes, he's got $60 and climbing. I hate Dave.

I head over and put "Blue on Black" by Kenny Wayne Shepard on the jukebox. Steve and Scott look at me blankly, but Dave cackles with delight and gives me a drunken hug. I’m his new best friend. Dave's won well over $100 now, but I don’t mind so much.


Wednesday October 1

The morning alarm goes off and we barely move. I don't feel as bad as I expected. My condition was probably helped by my two trips to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Scott goes to a solo shoot while Steve and I head out at 6am to a school in Carson City called Adventures In Learning. We're both green and purple.

We find the school empty. There is a sign on the door.

"School Closed. Building sold."

We call Scott and he says to go back to the hotel. I'm sorry about the loss of work, but I choose to see this as a "glass is half full" situation and am very happy. We go back to the hotel and to bed.

After dinner, we head out to find Dave at his apartment and watch a little baseball. Dave wasn't feeling so good today either. We go to Dave’s bar and watch some karaoke, but turn in early.


Thursday October 2

Another pre-school success is over by lunchtime.

Scott, Steve and I meet up with Dave and spend a little time at the casino. I wander away from the guys and sit at a $5 blackjack table. The dealer has a king showing and the guy at the table's head doesn't hit on his 13. I question this and he says he's just "playing the odds." Like many a blackjack moron, he's forgotten he's playing against the dealer. I bust, the dealer has a 20 and everyone loses.

"COH-deeeeeeeeee!" I hear in the distance. Twenty feet away, Dave cackles and waves. His impression of Steve is better than mine.

We head out to a nightclub called "Metropolis." The line stretches way off, but Dave knows the door guy and we bypass all of them. Once we're in, our cover is comped. Again, the power of Dave.

Ah, clubbing. The electronica... pimply faced boys thinking they're men... incredibly gorgeous girls way too young for me... I find the whole scene mesmerizing, but in a way I haven’t fully realized. On the one hand, I think of the parents of these teenage girls who have leaped atop the bar to gyrate with one another. If only they knew. But on the other hand, I'm alive and buzzing and find the club a metaphor for my entire week.

We have all left real life and slipped into this envelope of alternate reality. It is the outside world that is the illusion. All I feel is the love of my friends, my vodka collins and the rhythm of the music. There is no tomorrow. Every human being in the room is a brother, richer from this experience.

Steve, Scott, Dave and myself revel in the moment and toast to our adventurous week. This night is the capper to the week. Scott and Steve will be returning to Reno next week for more work, but I'll be back to life in LA. "You have to come back next week," says Dave. He offers me his apartment. He says he'll cover my meals and drinks if I come back with the guys next week. The offer is real. I think about it...


Friday October 3

Up at dawn. Scott is the only one hurting, and he has to catch a plane and be back to LA for a Rehearsal Dinner. But first we have another school.

We're off to "St. Albert's Child Development Center." A little boy, Kyle Plyatt, refuses to have his picture made. He's not a crier, he just "doesn’t want to." Scott starts to run through his list of tricks, all of which I’ve seen work at different times. Not this time. Kyle is onto all of it and won't walk anywhere near the photography set-up. Probably 10 minutes pass with all of these tricks failing. For me, this is unchartered territory. The great child photography frontier.

Scott turns off the umbrella lights and they begin to cool. "No pictures," he says to Kyle. "Shutting everything down." Scott and the teacher play near the photo seat and (somehow) Kyle wanders in to join them. Talk turns to Peter Pan. "He’s in my camera," says Scott. "Do you want to see him?" Kyle is interested but reminds us, "I don’t want to get my picture made."

Kyle finds himself sitting in position and Scott hits the camera. The "off" lights FLASH unexpectedly. "Did you see Peter Pan fly out of there!?" he asks Kyle.

Kyle beams, excited, "Yes!"

Scott fires off another picture. Then another. Somehow, someway, Kyle is seeing Peter Pan in the flash and is delighted. Kyle's mom will have no idea how much effort went into this.

And Kyle has no idea how he has exhausted the already-spent photographer.

We drive Scott to the airport for his flight (Steve and I will drive the truck back to LA). I ponder the city of Reno. "If Vegas is Sin City," I ask, "What’s Reno?"

"Slum City," says Scott.

It's a joke, but not really. There is an underlying sadness to this place. Little growth. Littler opportunity. It sparkles and dances like Las Vegas, but fails embarrassingly. Compare it to Tahoe, but Tahoe has that whole "one-of-the-most-beautiful-places-on-Earth" thing going on, leaving Reno way behind.

As Steve and I hit the freeway home, I know I have enjoyed my friends and my week in Reno... but there is a victory in my leaving. I can’t wait to get home.